Just Being
by metal-mako-dragon
Summary: A companion piece to 'Il Faut Souffrir Pour Etre Beau' in the form of a series of timestamps, though they can be taken as stand alone stories. These will focus on Will and Hannibal's marriage, during the happier times before everything fell apart; from relatives to relationships to ntains scenes of a sexual nature from the start. Omegaverse: Alpha Hannibal&Omega Will.
1. Distance-Intimacy

Introduction: A series of timestamps for 'Il Faut Souffrir Pour Etre Beau', though they can be taken as stand alone stories. These will focus on Will and Hannibal's marriage, during the happier times before everything fell apart. Includes such gems as phone sex and domestic bliss. Enjoy.

 **Chapter 1**

 **Distance/Intimacy**

Cave-like. Dark, yet enough overspill from the open door to illuminate vague forms; the dresser in the corner, with the wardrobe tall and monolithic at its side; the hope chest, carved and ornate; the bottom of the white duvet cover embroidered with thick golden thread, drooping over the pine. Above it the bed, carrying within its care the long, sloping outline of a body.

On sock clad feet he walked carefully inside, leaving the door open like a lantern guide. The mattress gave comfortably beneath his hands as he climbed up, crawling over to settle behind the shape laying upon his side. One hand tucked up under his head, the other reaching out to trace the faintest outline of skin. _Shoulder blade_ , he could feel, _up to the dusky hairs at the nape of his neck._

The skin shivered and he smiled, listening as the breathing, which had been so silent, flared on a long inhale, then out in the same fashion. Leaning in, he followed the invisible line his fingers had left, of bone under skin with the tip of his nose, feeling his way up to the neck. A long breath in, _mirrored_ , eyes open and hand straying to curl across the supine body pressed to him.

"You showered when you got home?" Will asked as he felt the body beside him wake, "I didn't hear you."

A soft, sleepy laugh from behind closed lips. Next to him, Hannibal rolled slowly onto his back, giving Will time to accommodate for the shift. The barest hint of eyes were caught in the faint light, opening with three steady blinks.

Three weeks. It had been three weeks of only moments spent together. Will felt as if he were caught in a bizarre limbo-like cycle in which his husband was constantly almost out of reach. Here, curled together, he couldn't focus on it too closely. Will lifted his hand to brush the hair from Hannibal's forehead, fingers lingering on the soft skin beside his ear. Barest hint of a smile on full lips.

"Still tired?" Will asked gently.

"I am sure I have slept enough," Hannibal's voice was thick and husky.

"When's your flight again?"

"Six thirty this evening. Time will soon be difficult to deal with, I fear."

"Only a couple of hours to Chicago," Will said, tracing his fingers down the curve of Hannibal's arm.

"Peirce wishes to take me to dinner when I land," Hannibal explained with little enthusiasm, rubbing at his closed eyes with rough fingers, "Unfortunately we are ensconced at the same hotel for the conference. Enough of an excuse for socialising."

"Not Thomas Pierce?" Will said with a frown; Hannibal's soft sigh was his reply, "I didn't know it was possible to physically be bored to tears, but last time I talked to him I think I was close. Which was at your boss's dinner, wasn't it?" Hannibal nodded, lifting his left hand to take Will's own, his fingers chill to the touch, "I'll never forgive her for those damned place settings. Also," he added with a small smile, "he clearly has a thing for you."

"I am well aware," Hannibal said, lazily running his long fingers over Will's wrist.

"I'll have to lay here, fearing for my marriage," Will said airily, "while Thomas Pierce steals your heart with his in depth analysis of hospital insurance loopholes and the last twenty five cases he's scored and how he'll become partner soon, he's sure, and...dear god that man was dull."

"You are far too awake," Hannibal said softly as he stared at the Will from the gloom.

"You won't be saying that when I tell you I've been up long enough to bake the sourdough," Will said, "and go out for eggs and sausage."

A moment of quiet, then a shuffling as Hannibal rolled onto his side, facing him. Will laughed quietly as a strong arm hooked him and pulled him close, a mouth rushing to the soft flesh of his throat to scrape sharp canines across the sensitive patch. Always a possessively dominant reaction when Will successfully predicted him.

"My darling, what would I do without you?"

"Make your own breakfast?" Will suggested.

"I would trust no other hands to serve me."

"I'm sure that sounded more romantic in your head," Will said, amused, even as Hannibal gripped him tightly.

Laying half atop him, Hannibal fit his head under Will's chin and puffed hot breath against his clavicle. _Warm and safe_ , was all Will could think as he ran his hand through the soft strands of Hannibal's hair, _safe and content_. Only six months ago just the thought of this being his reaction to an alpha would have made Will Graham laugh in your face; or bring you down to size with a few choice words. Now, he refused to admit it as hypocrisy and instead labelled it a turn of fate.

Will didn't consider himself 'caught and tamed', mainly because their marriage was hardly conventional. Two halves, that was how Will saw them, two broken halves all patched together. No one else would fit quite right.

"I'm going downstairs," he kissed the top of Hannibal's head and then sat up as Hannibal rolled onto his back once more, "give it about seven minutes."

The blood sausage was thick and brown, and sizzled aromatically in the olive oil. The trip to the butchers that morning had been tipped with excitement. Hannibal had been working himself ragged these past few weeks, what with a large reshuffle at the hospital after the retirement of the head of the surgical department. Lots of politics and position snapping, enough that it reminded Will of FBI interdepartmental power struggles he'd always done his best to avoid.

Always coming home tired, sleeping until noon or after, and then working on reports and propositions and _other_ people's paperwork or responding to emails. So much so that it was mainly work, lunch and then dinner before Hannibal was back at work on the night shift. He wouldn't call it lonely, because that wasn't quite accurate; helpless. Will felt a little helpless, in the face of it all.

So making the sourdough had been pleasing, as had buying the blood sausage and the pale blue duck eggs from their friendly local butcher, _Hannibal was a long time customer and Will had been adopted by association_. Now the eggs cooked in big, fat misshapes, sprinkled with marjoram, nestled in with the sausage and crisping chunks of bread. He was just serving when Hannibal walked in dressed in his heavy green housecoat and took his place at the table, hair run through with fingers rather than a comb.

"Thank you," he said genuinely as Will set the plate before him.

"Coffee or tea? I made both."

"Coffee, please."

Will handed him a cup of black, bitter coffee, poured himself some broken orange pekoe and, once everything was in its place, sat down at his own plate. The first mouthful was warm, succulent but with a crunch of fried bread and the sweet, headiness of the marjoram. Across from him, Hannibal was enjoying his food; Will could tell because his eyes were closed as he chewed, head held perfectly straight, and his coffee was as yet untouched.

A surge of warmth had him taking a drink of his tea. There was still an underlying resentment for such feelings. The very idea that serving his alpha could bring out that euphoria sickened him. Will continually had to re-evaluate his thoughts, set them out and analyse them. Only then could he be happy with the idea that the happiness came from somewhere other than a lowly biological reaction.

 _Hannibal never reacted this way with anyone else._ The thought allowed him to reinstate his previous thoughts. _Two halves of one whole_.

"Good?" he asked, cutting through the yolk and watching it spill.

"An understatement, darling. I feel my body has been craving protein, but recently I have been taking it like medicine. No time for taste. This," he said, spearing a sliver of sausage, "is truly food for the soul. Did you go to Grossets?"

"Mmm," Will nodded, humming before he swallowed, "He asked how you were. Made me realise you haven't been there yourself in a while."

"I find my time unsavoury," Hannibal sighed, wiping his mouth with a heavy napkin, "small people scurrying around me, doing small things with small results. Still, it is necessary in the grand scheme."

"It better be," Will said, making Hannibal look to him curiously, "or I'd be down there myself asking Marissa why I've barely seen you for twenty days. It's not just the butcher that's been missing you, you know."

"And how would you ask her?" Hannibal inquired.

"Physically," Will said, just on the wrong side of dark.

A warm but knowing smile graced Hannibal's lips. It had been a minefield, when they'd first met, disentangling the myriad of subtle expressions the man shifted through like water through cracks; almost imperceptible, but noticeable nonetheless, and over time creating streams and rivers big enough to see clearly. Hannibal was a surprisingly private person, despite his seeming love for the social animal. It was an endless amusement for Will to see the polite but disinterested visage of his mate scan the populous at large, only alighting on very few with a spark of genuine curiosity.

And only on one with single minded attention. Will knew the look Hannibal adopted across the dining room table. He wore it often nowadays. _Satisfaction_.

"Such poetry to your imagination," Hannibal said, then his eyes sparked abruptly as if remembering something, "ah, but I had meant to ask last night, about your consultation yesterday. How was it?"

"Oh. Right. Well..." Will scratched at his forehead and suddenly didn't feel like eating, "it wasn't exactly productive."

"Dr. Findlay came with a high recommendation," Hannibal said, looking a little put out.

"Well, I mean he was a nice guy," Will shrugged, trying his best, "but he didn't have anything new to bring to the table. Just like all the others, really. He diagnosed that my prolonged use of suppressants has created problems with hormones, halting ovulation," Will knew he was reciting the words mechanically, as if distancing himself from the problem with terminology would make it easier, "he suggested the same hormone therapies I took last time. The ones that didn't work."

"I see. No other suggestions?"

"Adoption," Will said wryly, giving Hannibal a challenging stare, "or surgery."

"Of which all procedures' risks far outweigh the benefits. I would not see you under the knife for this."

"I agree," Will nodded, even as his eager hormones wished for any reprieve from this barren future.

"Then I will make sure to keep an eye out at the conference, in case anything useful arises," Hannibal said, "medical science never stands still."

The fact that he treated it with a certain amount of casualness made Will relax, even as he couldn't help but worry, deep down. His husband never made a big deal of the revelation of yet another failed attempt. Yet the irritating feeling of worry was still there in Will's mind, that Hannibal deserved someone who could give him a child, a future. _Would you stop him if he left?_ The question wasn't considered for long, dismissed as quickly as it always was.

"Thanks."

"Never feel the need to thank me, darling."

* * *

"Ok, eleven down. Shoenberg's 'Moses and something'. Four letters, second is r," Will drew out the last letter a little as he stuck the top of the stylus in his mouth and ran it over his teeth absently.

Against his back Hannibal moved minutely in his slight slouch, bringing his arm up to wrap it around Will's waist. In return Will nestled further as he lay on the couch with his legs sprawled and his feet on the arm rest, pressed against Hannibal's side. Will could feel breath tickling through his hair as Hannibal leaned his face down to look at the back-lit surface of the tablet in Will's hands; _he could imagine the ever so slight narrowing of eyes, staring head height off into a room somewhere in his vast palace_. There was a rustle as Hannibal adjusted the newspaper on his knees and the breath disappeared.

"Aron," he said after another pause, his fingers splaying and retracting over Will's stomach.

"I'll take your word for it," Will said as he drew it in messily, "find anything interesting on at the Lyric for when you get back?"

"Nothing jumps out at me," Hannibal replied.

"I thought you said Fidelio was coming in October?"

"Cancelled. The soprano has contracted laryngitis; normally puts them out of play for weeks. I feel it is a typical example of my luck nowadays."

"I'll find something," Will said as he started on _twenty four down: Oswego tea, four letters, second 'a' – mind rummaging quickly and efficiently through his neatly filed alphabet, fingers flicking through pictures and memories of scents and tastes and related subjects_ even as his own tapped against his leg rhythmically, _coming to it as it emerged in his mind, remembering drinking it when he was younger to calm a fever, taken as medicine, different names known under: also known as Bee balm, or blue balm._ He made a soft sound and twirled the stylus into a good hold as he wrote 'balm' into the blank white spaces, "there's always something."

"Coming home to you is enough of a treat, darling."

The line was enough to make him laugh absently, taking a moment to focus on the hand against his abdomen, its soothing rhythm pulsing like a heartbeat. The sorts of words he should despise for their placation, but instead accepted for their truth.

"Smooth talker."

"You must give me some practice," Hannibal said, the rustling returning along with a waft of air against his right arm as the newspaper was turned over, "I will need to be sufficiently charming at this conference. Didera Callis is attending on the second and third days. I am adamant to ensnare her."

"Callis, Callis," Will repeated the name as he continued his puzzle, "I recognise that name. Is she Health Board?"

"Senior Vice President and Chief Medical Officer of St James. A be all and end all sort."

"Yes, I remember," _twenty two across, insect catcher, three letters:_ 'net', the stylus squiggled; Will sounded dry as he spoke, "she's one of the ladder riders, as you so nicely put it."

"There was a modicum of nepotism in her choice for the post. Still, I am willing to exploit myself for the sake of an unfair tactic. Though I will be taken on merit rather than connections. Head of surgery is still up in the air, and I know they have candidates chosen."

"They'll lose what little respect I have for them if they pass you over for heading up the unit."

"Your support is welcome," Hannibal's voice was tinged with familiar warmth.

"I only endorse what I've already tested."

"Then I am glad I've made such a good impression," Hannibal said, amused; the hand continued its hypnotic tempo, only stuttering when Will took his stylus in his lips and reached down to run his fingers over the back of Hannibal's hand, light enough to barely tickle the fine hairs.

"Now you're just fishing for compliments," Will smiled, mumbling around the stylus tucked into the corner of his mouth, "Twenty eight across, father of King Hadad, Genisis thirty six, thirty five. I've got the last letter as d."

"Bedad," Hannibal said without missing a beat, continuing as if by rote, "before there reigned any king of the Israelites. His name is oddly fitting."

"Oh?" Will asked as he wrote it almost unintelligibly with his left hand.

"It means solitary, alone."

"Don't go all sentimental on me," Will said wryly, even as he linked his fingers with Hannibal's when the other sought his touch.

"I dislike missing you," he said as the rustle returned, the newspaper folding, "but absence makes the heart grow fonder," Hannibal's right hand carded unexpectedly through his hair, making Will's eyes close in pleasure, "as they say."

It was enough, in that moment. Feeling, Will had found, was a constant between them, whether it be touch, sight, talk, memory, sharing, _just-being_. There was a resonance, an understanding simple enough to give them both peace. As Will sighed comfortably, Hannibal's long fingers trailing his scalp to leave a disorder of curls and waves in his wake, that same link resonated like a tightly pulled string. Bound and tied with a tight knot, enough that even compounded human experience encapsulated in a neat little proverb couldn't truly do it justice. Not for Will.

"What time is it?" he asked, his voice thick with contentment and pleasure.

"Nearly three."

The contented feeling slipped slightly but caused greater damage than it should, the fault line of their touch shifting by a mere centimetre, enough to cause an earthquake. Enough to tear and topple. _Don't go all sentimental on me_. Will wished his words could be closer to the truth.

"I'll make you something for the plane," Will said suddenly, sitting up to put his tablet on the table and then stand, feeling antsy and out of place, "even first class food is plastic crap these days. There's leftover roast beef from last night. I'll make you some of that Vietnamese anise thing you liked the other month. We've got rice, cardamoms. I'll put it in a tub. Sound ok?"

In answer Hannibal put his newspaper onto the coffee table, perfectly aligned with the right angle of the corner, and stood to kiss him. _Always the sort of answer Will resented and yet longed for._ A last kiss for a while now. Will held onto it.

"Smooth in more ways than just talking are we?" Will murmured against soft lips as Hannibal stayed close, noses bumping, "Hope you're not practicing this technique too."

"Heaven forbid," Hannibal smiled with the right side of his mouth, eyes bright and alive, watching him intently.

It had started raining by the time they'd bundled into Will's Volvo truck and headed for Baltimore Washington International. The windscreen wipers made an irritating whine as they wiped the steady droplets to the side, a waterfall of colour caught from passing headlamps and traffic lights.

"I'd say I hope you get better weather," Will said, looking up to the glum sky, making night seem quicker what with the heavy clouds blocking the sky, "but you'll be stuck in the conference centre. Probably for the best, the forecast is pretty horrendous for the next few days."

Which was when he realised he was talking about the weather and forced himself to stop. Hannibal stayed quiet, even as Will could see him glancing surreptitiously at him whenever he thought Will wasn't looking. The lights changed and Will pulled out, turning right with a few other cars to head along the curving tarmac to the departures entrance. Above them planes landed and took off in the miserable air. Will listened to the thump and whine of the wipers and chewed at the inside of his bottom lip.

Departures was a little crowded, forcing them out from under the protection of the building's purpose built roof.

"Just give it a few minutes," Will said, "someone'll move."

"We're later than I thought," Hannibal said, checking his watch, "I should have considered the weather."

"It's only..." Will looked at the little clock on his dashboard and read it aloud, "five to six. Shit. Sorry, I didn't realise," he dragged his hand across his face roughly; the antsy feeling still hadn't left.

"No harm done, darling," Hannibal said softly, reaching up to touch his arm; Will leaned in and allowed the kiss, awkward as it was over the gear stick. It lingered and Will found himself running his hand over Hannibal's hair, down onto the skin of his throat above his shirt collar.

"You should go, in case they stop you at security again."

"That was a simple case of mistaken identity," Hannibal said with equal amounts reproach and delight.

"They did apologise," Will said, smiling, "if it happens again maybe you can wangle a few free flights out of them as compensation."

"If it happens again," Hannibal said, tone a little dry, "I will be convinced I have a doppelganger."

"Call me when you land?" Will said as Hannibal opened the door out into the rain, the sounds of airport tannoys and cars filtering over the sound of the wipers and the weather.

"I will," Hannibal said as Will handed him his bags, "Goodbye, dearest."

"Bye."

The drive home seemed a little cold and too quiet, even though they'd hardly talked on the journey there. Little things were missing, the soft breathing, the shift of material, the subtle scent of Hannibal's cologne and his heady musk. The seat beside him felt absent.

On coming home Will decided not to judge himself on the fact that the first thing he did was go to their room, find Hannibal's green, heavy wool jumper he'd been wearing for the past few days, and slip into it.

He fell asleep on the sofa a few hours later after a meager dinner of leftovers, some program he hadn't been paying attention to on BBC America about the Celts playing unnoticed on the television, the neck of the jumper pulled up over his chin and mouth.

Content, but alone.

* * *

By the sixth ring, Will was biting at his thumb nail.

"Come on," he muttered softly to no one, rolling over to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling.

It had been a slow day, enough to leave him feeling more bereft than he was sure was reasonable. It had started promising, with approval coming through for his research grant, but then had fallen down when he realised it would take three weeks to process. No way to start anything big, no way to go ahead with the things he did have planned, and he knew he should be planning out the budget for his project but...

He didn't feel up to it. Things were too quiet. The house was empty from room to room. He'd gone for a walk to their local park to eat his lunch, but the presence of other people became an irritant. The bright sunshine had attracted families and children ran across the grass unheeded by others, screaming and shouting. Watching them had felt like staring at his own inadequacy.

The feeling was always there, _that he'd done this to himself_. The suppressants had been a part of his life since he was sixteen, making it possible to function as an unbonded omega in a world where that was truly not an option, and only now, after years of faithful service, had they betrayed him.

Will hadn't been able to stand looking at the little girl climbing the tree or the three little boys throwing bread into the duck pond. _Would you stop him if he left?_ the question kept returning, no matter how many times he shooed it away. He felt heavier when he returned. The house was quiet. Two days without another voice within its walls was seeming like an age.

"Come _on_ , pick up," Will said a little more forcefully, sitting up in bed and shivering as the blankets fell away from his bare chest; it was as he was leaning awkwardly off the bed to reach for the wool jumper that the rings stopped. Will grabbed the garment and sat up quickly, hoping he didn't sound too eager when he said, "Hannibal?"

"Hello? Is that Will?"

A stranger's voice. Will stalled, fingers tight around the jumper in his fist. The sound of voices in the background. A strange sort of anxiety rose in his chest.

"Yes," he said, feeling utterly lost, "who is this?"

"It's Tom. Tom Pierce. We met at Marissa's dinner the other month?"

"Uh huh."

"Right, well, I just thought I'd answer and tell you Hannibal's indisposed at the moment. You want me to tell him you called?"

"Yes," Will said, adding "please," when he realised how blunt he sounded.

"Ok," Tom sounded forcibly cheerful, "Well, it was nice to hear from you again."

Will hung up. The phone found itself chucked unceremoniously onto the floor. The jumper followed soon after. Curling up to sleep was the only thing he did find easy that day.

* * *

Ringing woke him. An automatic, floundering hand made for the side table but found nothing. Only as the ringing stopped did Will become compos mentis enough to remember it was coming from the floor.

"Shit," he muttered, hissing at the cold as he left the warmth of the heavy duvet just as the phone began to ring once more, lighting up the like a firefly on the carpet.

He grabbed it quickly and retreated to the bed, snuggling down into the pillows before answering.

"Hello?"

"Darling," Hannibal's voice.

"Where the hell have you been?" ground out in a muffled voice before Will could think about how surly it sounded.

"Apologies," Hannibal said, undeterred, "I was indisposed at dinner when you called. A frightful affair. Pierce recommended a local restaurant," Will found himself relaxing as Hannibal spoke, even as he tried to keep his irritation close at hand, "Inedible would be putting it mildly."

"He took you to dinner _again_?"

"I fear I may have underestimated the thing he apparently has for me."

"I should have told him to fuck off while I had the chance," Will said tiredly.

"I could pass on the message," Hannibal said, amused.

"Feel free," Will found himself laughing softly.

"So, I ordered room service on my return and have just finished taking a well needed shower, and it is now," a pause while Hannibal checked, "half past eleven, and I wish I were home with you rather than lying in this sterile room."

"I thought they booked you the suite?" Will said, even as he smiled at the sentiment; the anxiety was shrivelling like grapes in the sun. _The voice kept him close, enough to ignore the more difficult questions._

"They did," Hannibal said as explanation.

"Oh. Well," he cleared his throat, "Is the conference going well?"

"Very well, but that isn't why you called me."

"No, I guess it wasn't."

"Are you using the weighted duvet I left?"

"Mm hmm."

"I had hoped you would like it. Is it helping?"

"A little. And I do like it. What time's your flight on Friday?"

"Ten past eight in the evening."

"Remind me to tell whoever booked your flights to fuck off as well, will you?"

"Of course."

"I miss you. Been missing you all day."

"Do you miss me now?"

"Bits of you," Will said softly, shivering as his skin prickled at the timbre and quality of Hannibal's voice, changing subtly.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Are you trying to seduce me, Dr. Lecter?"

"I was not aware I had to."

A soft exhalation of breath, eyes closing, touch heightening, "You could always try."

Over the phone, Hannibal's sibilants took on a slightly slushier quality than usual, mixing with the consonants and vowels to create a flowing glide of language akin to waves upon the shore. Will listened and allowed it to wash across his skin, hairs rising on cue. Hannibal was not one to voice his feelings without recourse, and Will knew that he must understand the need in him, the need to feel close while so far apart.

 _Loneliness. Anxiety._

"How would you have the sorely missed parts of myself seduce you, darling?"

An abrupt laugh, "Are we doing the dirty phone call thing now? This is a turn up for the books."

"You always exposit on your overactive imagination. Perhaps I am simply exploiting it."

Still smiling, "Hands," Will admitted, swallowing, "I...like your hands. Like it when you..." he cleared his throat and tried to shy away from the embarrassing vulnerability of voicing his desires, and fall closer to the freedom of speaking them in an empty room, "when you touch me."

"Where, darling?"

"The-the insides of my thighs."

"I always hold you when I do," Hannibal sounded reminiscent, "from behind. Pulled tight against me, to keep you close."

Imagining was nearly good enough, but pulling the duvet down behind him in a piled up mess and pushing back against it fueled the fantasy. Will could imagine the weight behind him had breath of its own, warm and hard as the long fingered hand slid down between his legs to press against the soft skin of his inner thigh.

"You're warm," Will continued, part memory, part desire, "And you kiss at my neck, always when you get your chance."

"Only when you bare it for me."

"Only for you," Will breathed out as his hand slid up, the sensitive skin of his wrist pressing across his half hard cock even as his fingers continued to tease the sensitive skin beneath.

"Of course," Hannibal said, his voice tuning dark, slickly dangerous, "because you are mine."

"Yes, always," just above a whisper, "always."

"What would you have of me?"

"Your teeth a-against my throat and...and my leg," Will thought he could feel the tight grip of a hand at his knee, lifting it roughly, "you pull it back, over your waist. You expose me like no other can. You see me."

"My beautiful darling. That you offer yourself is enough. I would give you pleasure. Tell me how."

"Inside," Will insisted, "I want your wonderful hands in me. You always know just where to touch," his voice hitched as Hannibal interrupted swiftly, three words that went straight to his crotch.

"Caress yourself darling."

It was impossible to disobey, and the disconnect was electrifying even as it was bizarre. It was his hand reached down, across his chest, his abdomen, past the tuft of curling hair and his eager penis, and yet it was Hannibal's fingers that entered him. As they slid inside Will thought he could feel his mate's breath against his face as he pressed his cheek to the phone to catch the words seeping through.

"Always a spectacle, to watch you lose yourself. Bliss leaves you undone, vulnerable to me. I wish to open you like a gift. Touch deep where no other can. Would you give yourself to me, dearest?"

"A little late for that," Will breathed heavily as the three long fingers rocked inside, drawing jolts of pleasure with every curl, twist and thrust, "you're everything to me."

"Will, how you know me. I would have us together for as long as there is breath in us. For as long as my hands can touch you and bring sweet sounds to your lips," Will slid the fingers deeper, catching a moan in his throat with mixed success, on his back, legs splayed up and over the rolling duvet, "for as long as you would allow me see you unmasked. For as long as you will let me inside."

"You feel so good," Will said softly, mindlessly, face hot even as the cool air caught the sweat on his flesh, chilling his skin, "so close."

"I am sure I have two hands, dear Will."

"Hannibal..."

"I would have myself take you within and without."

The phone lay beside him, a lamplight in the dark, as Will wrapped his freed left hand around his weeping cock and bit out a soft, croaky groan, while the other continued down between his legs. An imagined heat spilled from his right side, where the duvet pressed, _where Hannibal's toned flesh pressed_ , warming him. The warm, smooth metal of his wedding ring slid against the soft skin, making him jolt and shake at the added sensation.

"Such smooth skin," the voice seemed clandestine as it radiated from the small speaker, "You blush, so fresh and free when I tease my fingers against it," Will bit down on his bottom lip, the sharp pain keeping him grounded, "Blood rushing, it makes you alive in this moment, even as it is dubbed _la petite mort_ ," the roughness Hannibal gave to the silky words made him shiver and his breathing quicken, "I would have you die a little for me," Will felt his world spiral in anticipation of the word, " _darling._ "

"I can't..."

But the words were untrue, for he could, and did. Will rode out the orgasm to the feeling of Hannibal surrounding him, holding him close, touching him inside and out, sweet words against his throat, knowing him so utterly as to be able to touch him over hundreds of miles without so much as a stutter.

When the high slid down, and down, Will realised he was laying in the dark, cold and wet. It was difficult to care. Wiping his hand across the sheets, _he could launder them tomorrow_ , he grabbed the phone and pulled the duvet up and over him, nesting underneath until his head was absorbed down into the puffy mass.

Hannibal's voice was ineluctably vainglorious, "Well, was it good for you too?"

Closing his eyes and opening them, Will hummed, even as the euphoria of the act gave way to the reality of his situation.

"Can't wait till you come home and show me the real thing. I'm sure you'd have some adjustments."

"Nor can I. Experiences with you are always virginal in their opportunities."

"You know I'm not as innocent as you presume," Will said, curling further in on himself.

"It is your innocence that I admire for its resilience, even as much of you gives in to the call of your subconscious desires. And I do so enjoy watching you give in."

"Trying to corrupt me?" Will asked, jokingly.

"I think it's a little late for that," Hannibal said with a smiling tone as he parroted Will's words back at him, "but I accept you."

"All of me?" the itching anxiety nipped, returning to swamp the tingling contentment.

"Whatever it may be."

"Even if I can't have kids?" the words blurted out without the ability to keep them in, and the anxiety flared high and threatening.

"I do believe you alone are more than enough for me, darling," said without hesitation or placation; a simple, true statement, "even if it were to be this, mere words between us for the rest of our lives, nothing could desecrate what we share."

"How did I get this fucking lucky?" Will asked hypothetically, his hand rubbing at the light pain in his chest; _everything seemed so fragile, yet made strong by confident words spoken in earnest_.

"I sometimes ask myself the same thing," came the reciprocation, "sans crude language."

"Oh of course," Will said, smiling.

"Of course, darling."

"God," Will said, looking at the screen of his phone to see the time, anything to change the subject, "it's after twelve. Do you have any early seminars?"

"There is a talk at nine on advanced surgical polymers I was tempted to attend."

"Then you should sleep. I know how you hate mornings," Will said, feeling his heart tighten at the thought of hanging up, "I'm...I'm sorry I kept you up."

"Oh? I'm not."

"Hannibal," said with affectionate scorn, "you're a prurient hedonist at heart."

"Only for your skin, dearest."

"Get off the phone," Will laughed, shivering at the memory, "Oh, and pass on my message to Pierce would you? Maybe it'll discourage him from taking you to any more lousy dinners."

"An interesting theory. I will test it."

A pause, where neither spoke and yet nor did they leave. Just steady, soft breathing and the idea, the concept of a presence kept close by the open connection. The ever subtle fear kept at him, skulking in the background even as it had been dismissed by Hannibal's sure words. _Would you stop him if he left?_ Will hated that the doubt lingered.

"I don't want you to go just yet," he admitted after a long pause.

"Then I will be here, until you sleep."

"You don't have to..."

"And yet I wish to. Sleep, darling. I will be here."

The phone lay beside him, beneath the heavy duvet, like a hand reaching out. _They lay together, and for once he could not care enough to chastise himself for the need and the want to feel close to his mate, nor resent himself for his lack of foresight, nor others for their proximity and his distance._ Will felt the touch of the light upon his skin, and knew that the doubt would fade in time. Just as everything did, eventually.

But Hannibal would be there, always, _until he slept_.


	2. Illustration-Action

Chapter 2

Illustration/Action

The quiet hum of the floor buffer, mixed with the staccato beat of a single pair of clicking heels and rolling wheels, had Will covering a yawn. The chair wasn't comfortable, not by a long shot. It was plastic, organically shaped to appear relaxing but be utterly useless in testing; it bit into his shoulders and slipped away at the small of his back, pushing him to a contorted angle.

Still, even uncomfortable furniture couldn't stop his eyes from closing, chin drooping to his chest, listening and listening to the breathing drone of the airport at night. _Shouldn't be long now,_ his optimism perked up. Will wished he could hold onto it. His hands were itching so much he'd had to force himself to stop scratching the back of the left before he broke the skin.

 _So near and yet so far._ Kept apart by bad weather and bureaucracy.

He yawned and finished the lukewarm coffee he'd bought to keep him awake and distracted. A few rows down from him the man sleeping on the chairs, covered by his fleece, snored loudly. The other seats stood like a game of Guess Who? with the heads and shoulders of the four remaining people only just visible above the blue plastic headrests; two business men, a middle aged blonde with a kind face and a teenager plugged into her phone, scrolling with an aimless expression as she constantly pushed her long hair behind her ear. The cleaner with his buffer floated over by the cafe, every now and then pulling on a just visible electronic cigarette and looking at his watch. Will stared at him aimlessly for a while, as if seeing an odd refrain from a dance routine.

The tannoy announcement rang out like asermon _: Good evening passengers, this is a boarding call for flight 2072 to Cleveland. Would all passengers for this flight make their way to gate three. Please have your identification and boarding pass ready for inspection._

Across the mainly empty area some people stood from chairs, seats on bags, emerged from places Will hadn't even seen, and made their weary way. Looking up at the flight board, Will sighed.

Delays made the world stand still. _And his nerves overwork._

He stood up, but walking only heightened his cavernous surroundings. Still, anything was better than that chair. Or falling asleep in it. After his third circuit and second cup of black coffee, Will looked up at the board to find,

 _Chicago - Southwest – 3438 – A3 - Expected 00:45_

Checking the digital clock gave him _00:29_ and his body woke up to the thought, even as his cynicism read _expected_ and refused to believe the hype. _And then there's going through customs and miles of corridors and waiting for luggage,_ he thought. Still, he made his way from the warm, semi-comfortable, catered Departures, to the dearth of Arrivals. At least they didn't have uncomfortable chairs to lure the unsuspecting.

It was another fifty minutes until anyone showed. By then Will was leaning against the railing by the ramps leading down to the waiting area, watching the wide entranceway avidly as the weary flight rolled in. Singling Hannibal out from the crowd wasn't difficult; he was the only one looking as if he'd just dressed that morning, his dark brown suit and blue shirt utterly immaculate, heavy overcoat draped over one arm, bag held with the other.

Eyes searched him out, meeting quickly. _A small smile and a raise of the hand._

Will made his way slowly to the left ramp as Hannibal descended with the other weary travellers, even as his itching hands willed him faster. No words were necessary, all spoken by action alone.

Hannibal put down his bag and hung his coat on the rail, touching Will's right arm softly: _You did not need to wait for me_.

Will shifted close, closer, until he was pressed against Hannibal's chest, hands in his pockets, forehead resting down against his shoulder: _I wanted to._

Hannibal's arms lifted to hold him close, forcing a small smile from Will as he let loose a contented sound; neither did public affection, except in mitigating circumstances: _I missed you, darling_.

Will returned the embrace tightly, curling his fingers into the immaculate suit jacket, pressed his face to Hannibal's neck and kissed the scented skin above the starched collar: _Next time I'm coming with you._

On pulling back Hannibal lifted his right hand to stifle a yawn, clearing his throat as Will laughed softly.

"Didn't sleep on the plane?" he asked.

"They refused to turn down the lights," Hannibal said as he gathered his things and they began the walk to the exit.

"And you're always so adamant first class is worth the price. Just as useless as economy when it comes down to it."

"Useless, yes. But for a measly extra fee I will take the extended leg room and not being sardined into my seat."

" _Measly_ ," Will shook his head and didn't comment further, "did they feed you at least?"

"Yes, though I'm not sure if it was food in the strictest sense."

"I made chicken chasseur, it's in the slow cooker."

"After five days of substandard restaurant fare and airplane meals, I can barely contain myself."

"Keep your wise cracks to yourself," Will said with a smile and a sidelong glance as they exited through the sliding doors, "I'm parked up to the right, by the taxis."

The house seemed warmer on their return, and the quick dinner, even at one fifty in the morning, seemed more filling. _Home seemed like home again._ Will dumped the dishes in the sink and badgered his antsy husband upstairs with a promise of _I'll do them in the morning_ , to which Hannibal pedantically noted that it was morning, to which Will leaned up to kiss him with what little energy he had left.

"Take me to bed," he said softly against Hannibal's lips.

"As you wish," Hannibal replied softly, eyeing the dishes narrowly as they left the kitchen.

Stripping down was quick and messy for Will, _jeans and shirt and underwear dropped onto the chair by his dresser in a heap,_ and slow and meticulous for Hannibal, _shirt and suit and underclothes folded and stacked in the pile for dry cleaning by the laundry hamper_. Will was already under the covers and half asleep by the time Hannibal joined him, sliding close and gathering Will into his arms.

"Did you turn off the alarm?" Will slurred sleepily against Hannibal's chest.

"Well remembered," Hannibal said, leaning back and to the left, letting in the chill; Will curled closer as he listened to Hannibal fiddle with the clock, moaning contentedly as he was once more pulled close.

Nestled together, Will allowed himself to drift. It was as he listened to the soft breathing from above, the pulse of a warm heartbeat beneath his ear and the feel of strong arms against his body that he realised the back of his left hand was sore.

But it no longer itched.

* * *

"You can't even wait till after breakfast?"

"I would have thought that on some level this constituted a meal."

"You're fucking incorrigible, you know that? Stop it, come on it's already half twelve and-for crying out _loud..._ "

"Your mouth says words your body does not hear. How indecorous."

"I- _uh_ \- we- _fuck_ \- we need to get up."

"I thought I was up, as you so delightfully put it."

Unable to stifle the laugh, Will smiled and shook his head as Hannibal leaned down across him to kiss at his neck. His hair was soft between Will's fingers, the caress seeming to encourage Hannibal to lean down further and press the length of their bodies tightly together. The laugh turned to a swift inhale.

One hand slipped lazily to his mouth, teeth denting the skin as he bit down. The other curled into the pillow by his side as Hannibal began gently stroking at the slit beneath his eager cock. Will groaned softly into the pillow and splayed his legs without conscious thought, eyes fluttering closed.

"Not exactly what I was going for," he murmured against his hand, eyes half lidded.

"You cannot hold me to etiquette when I am provoked," Hannibal rebutted, voice throaty with sleep and arousal, murmuring across Will's chest as he traced the skin.

"I didn't know a kiss good morning could be called _provoking_ ," Will said wryly, left hand going to Hannibal's nape to run gently over the hairs there; watching Hannibal shiver at the touch made him bite his bottom lip in anticipation.

"Five days is a long time to fast, darling."

"You look awfully collected, for a starving man."

"Perhaps I simply have a mask for every occasion."

"Mmm, I noticed," Will puffed out a breath as Hannibal subtly shifted from caressing to entering, " _ah_ your hands are cold."

"Apologies. Poor circulation. I am sure you will warm me up soon enough."

Grinning, Will reached up to pull Hannibal close enough to kiss, arms around his shoulders and neck.

"What would you have of me, darling?" asked against his collarbone.

It was pointless to deny himself the need of it, even as it bit at him, "Do I have to pick a part? Or can I take everything?"

"Everything? How demanding. But I do so love a challenge."

 _Always patient with him, always kind_. Will couldn't help but appreciate the gentle handling. Hannibal was never demanding. Sometimes it drove him a little mad, but he'd rather that than some other horror stories he'd heard. Of alphas taking what they wanted when they wanted, with no laws to restrict them. Another one of the many, many reasons he'd been adamantly single for so long.

His Hannibal; gentle and patient, yet passionate and intense beneath the shroud. Sometimes they complimented, _both quiet and fastidious by nature with an underlying wit and ability to see where others could not_ , but the contrasts kept things interesting, _cultured to his rustic, urbane to his unrefined, social to his introverted_. Always something new to discover, the exploratory nature of their relationship allowing Will to not feel awkward about his lack of experience.

Trying new things with Hannibal was surprisingly easy, especially considering he didn't exactly have a frame of reference. Years of suppressants had been on the menu for a reason, and from his formative teenage years until the moment he was desperate enough to come off the Antryphodene over a year ago, that menu had not included sex. To be truthful he'd never even really thought about it much, considering he'd never found anyone worth looking at twice. _Now that he was romantically involved, Will liked to understand himself as having high standards; what others would probably call 'being very picky'._

Then Hannibal had slipped into his life; _an end to looking but not seeing_. His arrival had signalled coming change, an end to his existence as he'd come to accept it, and the emergence of new choices. The night he had stopped taking the suppressants had been what he considered a last resort, to try and crack the case that couldn't be solved; the illusive Chesapeake Ripper. That's what he'd told himself. Only on visiting Lecter's house that night things had strayed from a need to know to simple, ineluctable understanding; _an end to an era and an end to his obsession._

Then the start of a new one. The rather wild minded and livid night at Lecter's home during the height of the Olmstead murder had been something he was sure neither had been expecting at the time. _Hannibal had been so gentle with him, Will could only remember the rapture of hands and mouth and his skin singing until his mind shut down_. Only now, as he peeled back the layers of skin one by one, did he think he knew his mate well enough to understand that Hannibal had most certainly been expecting it.

 _Hannibal was always expectant of the outcome to his machinations._

Because Hannibal wasn't like anyone he'd ever met, and was sure he would not again. Soft and demure, yet hard and unyielding when his principles were brought to task. Fiercely intelligent, smugly arrogant, beautifully skilled in whatever he put his hands to, with a mind for somewhat childish humour and wicked words, even as he continually hid his true self within in the shadows.

 _Despite the deep connection holding them flush, he knew there was always a piece missing, buried where no one but Hannibal could find it._

Will didn't mind, there was time to unravel the finer points. In fact he found himself wishing to take his time, long and slow. _Untangling the carefully crafted web of masks was a wonderful puzzle._ He was willing to be in the shadows too if that's what it took. _He knew parts of himself already resided there, waiting for Hannibal to uncover them._

As they moved together on the bed Will closed his eyes and accepted the kiss. _As close as they came to showing themselves utterly and completely, all costume and intrigue dropped to the floor like discarded clothing._ Will left himself open, inviting. Hannibal slid inside, eyes intent on his, and Will craned his head back and cursed with a smile.

"Too much?" he was asked.

"Not enough," was his reply.

They made love in the afternoon sunshine. Whispered words caused _faster, harder_ , while gentle touches evoked _slow, smooth,_ and Will enjoyed the bizarrely symbiotic hold they had over each other; _shared dominance_. Will held the reigns, while Hannibal allowed himself to be leashed by them. And of course occasionally yank them from Will's grip to test their budding limits.

When he eventually opened his eyes Will was sweaty, sated and veritably glowing. Above him Hannibal was watching him closely, as always, before leaning in to kiss at his forehead. Once, twice, on the third he stopped to push his nose into Will's damp curls and breathe in. Will reached up to run his hands down tempting sides, smiling as Hannibal jerked involuntarily at the feeling.

"Glad you did not hurry us to breakfast now?" Hannibal asked.

"Perhaps."

"I must admit I do not feel truly flattered by your brevity."

Will laughed, "Need me to declare that you just fucked me senseless? That's a little insecure of you."

"Not at all. I simply like to hear you, as they say, talk dirty."

Beneath him, Will stretched like a cat, long and leisurely, "That's not it. You just like compliments."

"Perhaps," Hannibal said, mimicking.

"Well you're just going to have to wait for your flatteries. I have better things to do today than lie here and enthuse about what a fantastic lay you are."

"Perish the thought," Hannibal said, eyes dancing with mischief, "what, pray tell, are your plans?"

"I need to buy a pig."

"A pig."

"A whole pig."

"Why settle with half?" the right side of Hannibal's mouth ticked up in a smile.

"I'm hoping the butchers will accommodate me," Will covered a yawn.

"I am sure they will," Hannibal said, running his hand down the length of Will's abdomen, smearing the thick fluid of their shared release across his hot skin, "This is either a very ambitious meal plan, or something to do with your upcoming study, I assume."

"Unfortunately I don't think it'll be edible after I'm done with it," Will said, licking his lips and sniffing, craning his neck back to read the wall clock: _five to one_ , "I was thinking I should get there before noon, but so much for that."

"I'll come with you. It has been some time since I shopped for a good cut of beef. I have been craving filet mignon ever since I landed in Chicago. Good for you?"

"Sounds delicious," Will replied, nuzzling Hannibal's shoulder.

"But first, a shower?"

"A shower," Will agreed, adding in a wry tone, "and I want to be clean when I come out of it."

The look on Hannibal's face made no promises.

* * *

The moment of eureka bloomed into being at one forty five pm a week later with a thermometer, a blanket and the third pig the butchers had been happy, if not bemused, to supply. At seven hundred dollars a shot (six hundred seventy five for the pig alone, and a rather hilarious twenty five for shipping) Will was running short of patience for wasting funds. So far Hannibal had been shelling out, always with a stern promise from Will of 'you'll get it back when the grant comes through'.

He knew Hannibal did not care for the money, but still, Will stuck by his principles. It had never been part of his plan to be a kept pet.

And now, the third pig had unfolded the secret.

"You fucking genius," Will muttered to himself as he recorded the time and temperature with a scratchy pen, watching the digital readout flicker down another degree, "wrapped her up, didn't you, wrapped her up to keep her hidden, and look where it got us."

Walking backwards earned him a trip over a box by the door, swiftly recovered against the wall as Will bundled himself out of his lab - or large shed, which was closer to its reality - at the bottom of the garden. He quick-walked, eyes still glued to his notes. The garden was a familiar enough space that he didn't have to look; moving around the twin pampas grass, flowering their long alien-like stamens, the flowering bushes and the pear tree by the neighbour's fence and towards the decking at the back door. Glancing up he saw the door was open, which could only mean Hannibal was in the kitchen.

"I've got it," Will began calling out, looking back to the readings in his hands with excitement, "he was clever, _too_ clever to slip in with the rest of his behaviour _._ She was wrapped in a duvet, or a rug, something tight. Slowed her body temp decrease and, here's the kicker, made it more difficult for the insects to get in and plant their eggs. That's why the dermestids weren't weathered and don't match up with the rate of decay, and the larval skins..."

Looking up again had his mouth run dry, lips still parted as he stared up at the shape of a person he hadn't expected. Alana Bloom stood, arms folded to cradle her elbows, a small smile on her painted lips.

"Alana," he said redundantly.

"Late lunch at two? I said I'd be early? No?" she smiled, "Forgot, didn't you."

"I was...working," he said, putting his pen behind his ear and climbing onto the deck, "you look nice."

And she did, in her dark blue dress and high brown boots, hair loose. Always easy on the eyes, Alana, even if her eyes weren't always easy on him. There was a subtle expectation there, as well as judgement, he knew that.

It suddenly seemed a long time since he'd seen her last. For a moment he allowed himself to realise how wrapped up he'd become in his bubble of a world, _safe and secure_ , without even having to consider anything else. A quick calculation spat out: _three months and two weeks – a chance meeting at the Hippodrome during the intermission of Othello_. Will allowed a little guilt to slip in.

Still, Alana didn't bring it up, nor did she even seem to begrudge him the lack of acknowledgment. Instead she knew him well enough to simply say,

"Very smooth, Graham. So," she put out her hand and, after a pause, Will handed over the clipboard; Alana looked at it casually, "this is why you're getting complaints from the neighbours about the smell."

"He told you about that, did he?" Will said, unimpressed as Hannibal emerged with a tray of drinks to place on the wooden table by the door; Will took his when handed the glass, giving Hannibal a balanced stare, "You know you could have reminded me we were expecting guests."

"You were working," Hannibal said as if it were obvious, "besides, lunch is not yet ready," he turned to Alana and gestured to the shed, "luckily today the wind is South Westerly, so we can sit outside without fear of having our stomach's turned."

"It's not that bad," Will said wryly, sitting down stiff limbed and awkward; _other people always left him slightly wary these days_ , "anyway, won't need her for much longer. Just a couple more hours, then you can stop fearing for your reputation in the community."

"I don't think Hannibal's ever worried about that," Alana said, raising an eyebrow with her smile as she too sat.

"We're all a little weird," Hannibal said, tipping his head a little to the left, "those who cannot understand that are not worth my effort to mollify," from the kitchen a timer sounded with a soft bell, "excuse me for a moment."

Will watched him go from under his lowered brow, picking at his nails with his other hand. The dirt there made him feel a little out of place; he'd walked from one world at the bottom of the garden, to another at the top. The sound of curling paper caught his ear and he cast a glace over Alana, still ruffling through his notes with one hand, drinking with the other.

"It's the Rulla murder," Will explained without prompting, "based on, I mean, not actually _the_ murder, that would be..." he cleared his throat and sniffed, "it was five months ago?" Alana nodded but didn't say anything, "Well, that's what it is."

"You've been through three pigs?" Alana said, smiling a little as she caught his eye.

"This is the third."

"Third time lucky?"

"It wasn't luck. It was inspiration."

"You were inspired to wrap a pig in a rug. Do I even want to ask?"

"You think it'll put you off lunch?" Will joked dryly.

"Do _you_ think it'll put me off my lunch?" Alana replied.

"It's nothing like that," Will shrugged as a leaf floated down onto the table from next door's oak; he picked it up and twirled it by the stem, "just the new, uh, blanket I got. Weighted, you know? Like you hear about in the dynamics booklets when they do canvassing door to door."

"Oh, I know," Alana said, waving it away, "heard enough to put me to sleep from my mom about them."

"They work," Will shrugged, "well, I mean while Hannibal's away, it's just..." clearing his throat again did nothing to loosen the tension he was slipping into; _the need to justify himself grew like a tight knot in his gut,_ "...easier. Coming off suppressants seems to have made me a bit, uh, twitchy about...things."

After a short pause Will raised his gaze from the leaf to Alana, finding her watching him closely as she sipped her white wine spritzer, "You're coming off the suppressants?"

"Yes," Will said succinctly; _the judgement was there, he knew_ , "we're trying for, I mean we've been trying for a baby."

He was glad she hadn't been drinking at the time, because Alana looked a little startled at the news and Will didn't feel like explaining to Hannibal why their guest was soaked in sparkling alcohol. She licked her lips and put the drink down on the wooden table gently. The sky shone like kyanite, deep and rich blue with a crystalline sheen near the effervescent sun. A day like any other, a day for a breakthroughs, a day for lunch on the patio, a day for status quo.

And now a day for revelations. The next words out of Alana's mouth made him rue the latter addition to the list.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked without compunction.

"Wow," Will shook his head and smiled hollowly, "moving right past patting me on the back and straight to pushing me into the lion pit, huh?"

"I didn't mean it like that," she said genuinely, looking a little wary, "it's just...I'm your friend and I don't want to see you hurt. There, ok? It's not that I don't want you to, only..."

"Only you think I'm not stable enough," Will finished for her.

"Don't make me out to be the bad guy here. I thought we'd already talked about this."

"Over a year ago," Will pointed out, "things are different now."

"No, they're not," Alana said, glancing to the kitchen as she lowered her voice, "Will, just because you're mated doesn't decrease the chances of complications after birth. You know that, the doctor you went to knows that," she paused when Will took a deep breath, eyes skipping between her and the kitchen door, "...does Hannibal know that?"

"That's not important. I want this, alright? We both want this."

"Will..." she sounded as serious as he wished she didn't.

"Can we talk about this another time?" he hurried out.

"You haven't told him?"

"It's not written in stone, Alana, don't pigeon hole me just because of my fucking status."

"I'm not, it's just fact, don't take this personally," she said, even as Will felt like telling her how redundant it was, "Sixty seven percent of male omegas with previous mental disorders have severe neurological backlash after giving birth, especially traumatic deliveries."

"It won't be a fucking trauma."

"Birth is a trauma, Will."

"And echopraxia isn't a serious mental disorder," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, even as he knew his argument was built on sand and Alana's on stone.

"Yes, it is. It really is. You've never seen it, Will, but I have. God, Will, please just..." she stopped as the sound of plates clattered from the kitchen, "promise me you'll tell him. It's not fair to pretend it doesn't exist. It's just not fair."

Lunch became a stilted affair. After three bites of his exquisite goat's cheese, stripped beef and balsamic vinegar tart Will excused himself and walked strictly back down the garden to his lab.

It was difficult to keep an appetite with a stomach full of anger and guilt.

* * *

Nightly routines were grounding. Hannibal brushed his teeth over the sink, Will walked around with the brush in his mouth, doing little things. Hannibal followed a strict repertoire of cleanliness and skincare, Will washed his face with warm water and patted it dry. By the time Will got to the bed, it had always been turned down on his side.

Tonight Hannibal sat up against the headboard, tablet on his duvet covered legs. The lamp set the bedroom in a low, soporific glow. Slipping into his white night shirt, Will sat down on the bed, his back to Hannibal.

A pause wide enough to be a noticeable gap in the routine's usual uninterrupted flow. When it had stretched to its limit, Hannibal broke it with a neutral topic, enough to make Will feel the need to laugh. He simply wasn't sure yet if it would be with joy or despair.

"Face and voice signals," he began, "despite the different nature of their physical structure, carry highly similar types of socially relevant information. Both contain linguistic information, but also relevant information on a range of personal biological characteristics, gender, age, size, etc. From this angle the voice can be consider an auditory face, so to speak."

The sound of moving fabric, then of the tablet placed aside on the table. Will took a deep breath and let it out as he slipped into the bed, pulling the covers over, staying beneath. Heavy with a guilt that was all his own; not for keeping the truth from Hannibal, because he knew Hannibal did not need to be told. The guilt sprang from his need, something he did not always push for, overriding all others. Even logic.

"Interesting reading?"

"A journal article, not my usual fare; psychology. Swapping medicine of the body for that of the mind."

"Something someone recommended from the conference?"

"No, just a personal interest."

As he lay back, head against the pillow, Will took both hands and rubbed them forcefully over his face, "I told you, when we first met. You won't like me when I'm psychoanalysed. I thought you'd taken it in fair warning."

"I do not wish to creep into somewhere I am not wanted. I merely want you to talk to me."

"About what?"

"About whatever it was Alana said to you earlier, to make you so reluctant."

At times Will did not feel psychoanalysed by his husband, as much as he felt dissected; a corpse under the coroner's knife. The event would be dead and gone, now disinterred under watchful eyes. Not that he wished it buried, as such, he knew that it was in both their minds. Only...

"Not so much what Alana said to me," Will admitted slowly, "as what I haven't said to you."

"You are worried."

"Mmm."

"Is this about the fertility treatments?"

"It's about...about what's going to come after that. You know what might happen. I know you do. You're too officious not to have read up on the dangers."

"Of course," Hannibal said bluntly, forcing Will's eyes to him; he sat, in his navy blue night clothes, and looked down at him without judgement, "and in return I know that you must know them."

"Then maybe we're both culpable."

"We cannot be culpable for something that has yet to happen."

"What if I..?"

 _...lose my mind._

He couldn't voice it, because the subject was too close to ruining him. Always had been. It haunted his steps, from his childhood to his working life, _with Jack Crawford making allowances or his colleagues whispering behind their hands_. His dad had hated explaining away his son's behaviour, having to disclose his disorder on dynamics assessments, or to families of potential suitors. _The little odd duck_. At times like those he'd missed the idea of a mother the most; he'd never known her, so she could be nothing more than an idea to him. A balance, that's what he'd imagined, a balance to his father's stern, traditional views. Someone to show him where he came from because, for the life of him, he couldn't see a single trace of himself in his father's face, or his gestures, his habits.

Someone to show him that he was normal, simply because he would no longer be the only one.

"Then I will be right here," Hannibal answered; _his auditory face saying what his own did not_.

And then sometimes, when he was feeling reckless, Will knew Hannibal filled the hole that rolled about his life creating _noticeable gaps_ or _long silences_. That sometimes he let Hannibal be his balance, because there was no one better suited to understanding what that meant. Rolling onto his side, he was met half way with an arm around his shoulders and a kiss to his lips.

"Good," Will said, keeping his emotions tight even as they strained his voice, "because if you went anywhere else I'd be hunting you down."

"Sounds tempting," Hannibal admitted, thumb stroking rhythmically against Will's upper arm.

"Careful," Will said, smiling as he curled against Hannibal's side, arm across his waist, "your inner predator is showing."

"I am sure I could give you a far more impressive demonstration."

"I'm sure you could," Will said as the hands on his body slid beneath the cloth, "and if you try hard enough? You might even see mine."

"Such a delight, my darling," Hannibal muttered as he pulled Will atop him, "You are such a delight."

Perched atop his mate, looking down into twinkling eyes and a subtle smile, Will found his balance.


	3. Coincidental-Intended

Chapter 3

Coincidental/Intended

"I don't have to be there."

"No," Hannibal agreed as he emptied the leftovers into the stainless steel bin in the corner, "but that does not mean I would not prefer it if you were."

Right in the middle of a difficult time, a pair of invitations had arrived. Not difficult because either he or Hannibal were being particularly difficult themselves, but instead because life had decided it could step up to the plate if no one else was going to supply friction.

The first had been Jack Crawford, stirring the pot. Will had always liked the metaphor. He thought it was particularly apt for Jack. Crawford may put on the bravado, but beneath he was as cunning enough to know the ingredients he needed to make his recipes work. Jack's ingredient list was a good team, and Will knew he was nestled in there somewhere. It had been difficult enough leaving the BAU, but to have the BAU actively hunting you was somehow worse.

Will knew that all Jack would positively react to was blatant, blunt refusal. So when Jack had cornered him into a meeting and spent the whole time dancing around the issue, Will hadn't felt an iota of guilt when he'd said, "Jack, would you mind fucking off with this subtle bullshit? It's like sitting in the long grass with a snake" to Crawford's face. It had been a plus to his intuition when Jack had just laughed, his sharp eyes watching Will closely. His adamant rebuttal had left a bad note in the air, and not just with Jack. Truthfully, Will knew that Hannibal had always hidden his disappointment at Will leaving his bolt hole at the FBI. Not that he would ever say so.

He was too polite for something as vulgar as saying it out loud.

And then the second invitation had arrived, and bizarrely it was somehow worse than the first. Will just wished he'd woken earlier that day. Normally he always woke up earlier than Hannibal, but that morning the lure of a few extra hours with his eyes closed had been too much. _Too much worrying, too much focusing on work to ignore worrying, too little sleep._ When he woke and went down for breakfast he had found Hannibal leaning against the range with a cup of hot tea in one hand and a letter in the other which he read in silence. Secreted within ivory stationary, and written with fine ink, had come a summons to the Lecter mansion.

' _A charity ball,_ ' his husband has said in reply to inquiring what had come through the letterbox, ' _it seems my aunt has found a new cause to champion. The twenty third of May. We do not have plans for the twenty third, do we darling?_ '

A question asked while the answer was well and truly known. Will wished Hannibal wouldn't try to be coy. Even more than that Will wished he'd woken earlier. If he'd been the first to find the letter he could have thrown it in the fire with no remorse and pretended it had never arrived. Now he was partaking in another of those talks that always left a bad taste in his mouth. For a man with no family, something in Will always grated whenever he tried his best to keep them both away from Hannibal's relations. Sometimes it smacked of a bitter jealousy he wasn't willing to explore.

"Having to and wishing and wanting," Will shook his head as he placed the rinsed plates into the dishwasher in a neat row, "I guess that doesn't matter, really."

"Meaning?" Hannibal asked.

"Meaning I should stop trying to wrap it in pretty words and courtesy when it comes to your goddamn aunt. I'm not going because I don't want to go. Ok?"

"I would not force you, of course."

"No, but I'll know what you're thinking," Will sighed.

"Know what?"

"Don't bother pretending," Will said dryly, "I'll _know_. And then I'll have to put up with it for weeks; knowing," Will stood, straightening out his back, and sighed as he rubbed at his face; Hannibal was still watching him, as an ambush predator waits for the prey's weakness to show, "look, we're all well aware that this is a bad idea and I am absolutely not going to enjoy it. I can't. Even if it was fun I wouldn't allow myself to enjoy it."

This made Hannibal smile softly as he rinsed the casserole dish in the sink and handed it over. Will took it and shook his head.

"Always the devil's advocate," Hannibal said.

"Nope, just my own. Anyway...look," a tipping point, which he felt as if he tripped over rather than stepped, "I'll go, alright? I'll go, just don't expect it to end in anything but tears."

"I doubt I could imagine either of you weeping over mutual insults."

"It's a metaphor."

"All metaphors have a basis in fact. But I am glad you will accompany me, it would have been rather awkward alone. Some of my relatives do not believe I have truly settled down. I am hoping to convince them...Will?"

Hannibal stood, still with a small, attractive smile on his lips and a dish in his hands, watching as Will laughed into his cupped right hand. A genuine, full bodied laugh, eyes squinted in pleasure. When he finally managed to stop, rolling his shoulders and grinning, Hannibal raised a brow.

" _Settled down_ ," Will said as if it were the single most absurd thing he'd ever heard, voice still hitching with laughter, "tell me another one."

Lying in bed later that night, he found it hard to relax. He would go, yes he would go, but he knew it was a terrible idea. It would sit on the horizon of the twenty third like a looming vulture, beady eyes ready to feast on the vitriol of shared dislike. Rolling onto his side and fluffing his pillow Will took a deep breath and held it.

Understanding was a rare consolation. Growing up misunderstood, Will had always found it easier to _understand_. Other people couldn't deny their true natures; it had always been a useful weapon for keeping the unwanted at bay.

Understanding: a simpler avenue with prey than loved ones, and the reason Jack hunted him relentlessly. Unfortunately for Will, Lady Murasaki was most certainly on that side of the line, planted firmly in with those he understood with the most clarity. Cold blood ran between them, slicking the way for mutual animosity and heightened awareness of motivation, as it always did with everyone he met.

Besides Hannibal that was, but he was willing to make one exception to his rule.

* * *

The hotel was nice, it was, truly fitting with Hannibal's ostentatious tastes from the marble columns in the lobby to the gilt door handles on in their suite; even if all it did was underline Will's stubborn, abrasive feelings. Every step inside the building, every coat hanger used in the sliding door wardrobe, every drink ordered from room service until he gave in and asked for the bottle.

It was nice here, but it was everything that was wrong with their keeping in touch with Hannibal's aunt and uncle. Will lay back on the pristine sheets and stared at the ceiling, lazily swirling the amber of forgetfulness in its heavy tumbler gripped tightly.

"No place to think about the space in between us, is there?" he asked no one in particular; he rolled his head to the side and took an awkward sip, spilling a little on the bedspread, forcing him to sit up and murmur, "Shit," as he dabbed at the stain with a heavy napkin from the nightstand.

Hannibal had gone on ahead to help prepare for the do. Will had decided that it would be better if he stayed out of the way of preparations, partly for Hannibal's benefit and partly for his own. There was no enjoyment in mixing business with pleasure, and Hannibal's aunt Murasaki was all business where he was concerned. Not the sort of business he was interested in.

Not his interest. That's where the need to fill his glass had come from. _Would you stop him if he left?_ The old question sprang up at the first sign of weakness, and Will allowed the alcohol to ignore the implications on his behalf.

Dinner alone felt nostalgic. A look back at how things had been before expensive hotel rooms and lavish dinners and trips to Europe on a whim. Will ate in the room with a rented movie on the overly large television: _Some Like it Hot_. It was difficult not to laugh, even if he didn't feel in the mood to be happy. Or sad. Or anything, really. The false happiness forced on him by humour helped keep everything else at bay; that strange, empty, lost pit in his stomach that he hated for what it was.

His life like it had been before.

Him in his cabin out in Wolftrap, tying intricate knots into fishing flies and fixing boat motors and walking with the stray dogs that followed him out of camaraderie and the hope for food scraps and trying his best to pretend he didn't care that he was going to be alone for the rest of his life because he couldn't even begin to understand how to start changing for someone else without ending up resenting himself, or them, or both.

Hannibal, on the other hand...

The room felt empty again and Will sighed. He took a hasty mouthful of rice and pork stroganoff, smiling emptily as Jack Lemmon tore off his wig and declared himself a man.

 _Well, nobody's perfect_ , came the reply.

Will chewed over his food and swallowed, along with his thoughts. Then he frowned as the words repeated in his head, eyes squinting slightly, then he smiled, then he grinned and let out a hissing laugh. _What the hell am I trying to do to myself?_ he thought. Another mouthful of bourbon had him shaking his head and settling down to choose something else to pass the time on the screen.

Worrying about his life choices could wait until he was forced to believe they needed thorough revising.

* * *

Hannibal had sent a car to pick him up, because of course Hannibal had sent a car. _Couldn't have his partner turning up in a 2004 Volvo flatbed truck with visible rust around the real wheel arches, could he?_ Will thought. Too down home American. What would fit in worse between the Rolls Royces and the Mazeratis? Maybe the old Jeep he'd had before he met Hannibal. Thing guzzled gas and was solid as a rock, even if it would have been the ugly duckling at the party.

Right now, he empathised with the sentiment. Stepping out of the sleek Mercedes made him feel as uncomfortable as the suit he wore; well fitting, tailored and enough to make him itch. He walked with a few other attendees making their way towards the well lit, scalloped stairway which led to the mouth of the mansion.

"Name?" he was asked as he reached the top step, making him blink a little and search for the source.

A suit and tie with a polite smile stared back at him, holding a guest list. Will had to suppress the urge to turn and leave on the spot.

"Will Graham," he muttered out, scratching at his neck.

"I'm sorry sir," the suit said in a voice that sounded nothing like it, "but you appear not to be on my list."

"Christ," Will shook his head and made to walk inside; when a hand moved up to stop him he jerked back like a horse from an electric fence. Beside them an older couple walked past, eyeing the scene with a mix of upturned noses and inner circle gossip mongering.

"I am unable to permit you without an invitation, sir."

Hands in his pockets, Will smiled grimly, "You're making it sound like you wouldn't be doing me a favour."

The doorman frowned and made to speak, only to be interrupted.

"I know you."

Both Will and the suit turned as one to the bright doorway, to find a young girl there dressed in an eye bleeding combination of a turquoise blue satin dress fringed with orange frill, complete with red tights and shoes. In her hands she held a doll, similarly bedecked and with matching blonde hair.

"Excuse me, miss, but this..." the suit began.

"You're Will Graham," she said purposefully, "you're uncle's friend."

"Doctor Lecter?" the suit said, as if to himself, swallowing.

"Friend?" Will asked with a small smile and a raised brow.

"Come on," she said, grabbing his hand without preamble and pulled him inside.

The suit had no protest to offer.

 _Through the looking glass_ , he thought as he passed towered champagne glasses trickling with fizz, ladies bedecked in anachronistic hats standing by men in striped suits and animal faced masks. As they walked by, the main ballroom revealed a woman suspended from the ceiling by golden silken strands, twisting and tumbling in an artful display of obscene wealth. By the stairs there stood a towering stuffed bear on its hind legs, a shotgun placed between its raised paws.

Will wondered if it was worth drinking, or whether the decor alone would suffice.

Thankfully the girl continued to lead him through the absurdity, through the main atrium and around a corner into a long corridor, quieter, removed. The arched ceiling made it seem taller than it truly was, and Will couldn't remember ever having been down it on his few visits to the estate. It was lined with plinths sporting morose looking busts. When the girl released his hand she trotted over to a particularly gruff looking example, its long beard touching its wooden stand, and sat down on a low bench against the wall.

Will looked around himself in a slow turn, eyes flitting over the cathedral ceiling and the gold plated light fittings.

"I suppose it would be too much to hope that your name is Alice," he asked without thinking.

"Veronica," she corrected without hesitation

When Will looked at her she stared back unabashedly; which was the moment he realised he didn't mind meeting her eye. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and walked over to her, sitting down at the other end of the bench.

"Let me guess," he said, exhaling, "after a grandmother?"

"On my mother's side," she nodded with a slightly sour look, watching him, "he's not really my uncle, you know."

"I figured not."

"I just call him that because he said I could."

"He can be quirky like that," Will said, itching to ask more; he didn't want to push, so instead said, "so how'd you know my name?"

"You work for the FBI, don't you?"

Through the thick layer of antisocial brusqueness and standoffishness Will always wore to a gathering such as this, he looked at the young girl and smiled. She was charmingly blunt and brusquely truthful. He could see why Hannibal would be taken with her.

"Used to," he nodded, "how'd you know that?"

"I read about you. The Minnesota Shrike, right? And The Angel maker. It's five. Five major cases and five convictions."

"That's right," Will didn't want to seem too taken aback; he guessed she got enough of that already, probably from her parents, "you interested in criminal psychology?"

"Mm hmm. My mom doesn't like it, but I like knowing about people. Some people are stranger than most."

"So I've found," Will said, cocking his head, "what with being a little strange myself. But then I've always thought that the strange ones tend to be the most interesting."

Suddenly, from her mainly impassive face, Veronica smiled brightly. Her eyes seemed to grow larger, showing off their watery blue. It was slightly disconcerting, but Will just smiled in return. Without warning, she handed Will the doll she'd been clutching. Taking it felt like entering into some sort of unknown bargain. _Maybe we're all just strangers, flocking together_ , he thought as he looked down at the doll, noticing it had only one eye.

"Need a new eye for..?" he left it open.

"Hannah. Her name's Hannah."

"Hannah, right. Here," he said, looking down at his uncomfortable, slightly detested, bespoke suit, "have one of mine."

The button came away in a few swift tugs and twists. He handed it back to Veronica with the doll, pressed together as if to make the two as one. Little Veronica took them with her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Won't you get in trouble?" she asked.

"Oh this?" Will pointed to the ruined slips of string hanging from his suit, "It's fine. I'll fix it. I'm good with needles."

"Me too," she said enthusiastically, smoothing the orange ruffles on her dress, "but mom always gets me in trouble when I sew on my new dresses."

"I like it," Will said, looking over her garish garment, "not exactly my colour scheme, but I like it. So, uncle huh? How'd that start?"

"Uncle Hannibal looked after me when I got the measles last year."

"Measles?" Will frowned in concern, "Haven't you had the inoculations?" she squinted her eyes and frowned, "Your jabs at school."

"Uh uh. Mom said they're poison. But I'd say measles was poison too. Although I've never been poisoned, so I guess I wouldn't know. Still, it was really strange. I had weird dreams. I don't really remember it much. Have you ever been ill?"

"Once. I had a fever when I was nine. Had weird dreams then too."

They fell into an awkward silence. Will bit down on the anger he was holding back towards Veronica's parents. In the background a lively tune perked up, the violins ringing out loudly. Standing up, Will offered her his arm.

"Fancy some champagne?" he asked.

"I'm only twelve," she said, as if he were mad.

"In France you get it at ten," Will shrugged.

"Oh, ok," she agreed, as if that made perfect sense.

He walked her back to reality, and it felt insincere somehow to return to it. They weren't supposed to be there, Will felt, as if they were intruding. Or perhaps that reality was intruding upon them. He snagged a tall flute of champagne from a passing waiter and emptied half of it out into a tall plant pot sporting a fern.

"Only half, don't want you getting too hyper."

"Thank you," she said, watching the bubbles in her glass as they wandered slowly around the atrium, "but you said you don't work for the FBI anymore?"

"Nope. I write now. Maybe not anything you'd have read," Will shrugged, thinking about how sharp the girl was, "but I might be wrong. I write about cases."

"But if you don't work there, how do you write about it?"

"You don't have to work there to get information," Will said, looking at a long buffet table as they walked through the archway into the ballroom, the music intensifying and the crows thickening; every step was taffeta and silk, mixed with absurdity, "it's who you know, kid."

"Oh. Like Hollywood."

"Yeah," Will couldn't help but let out a small laugh at the analogy, "only with more backstabbing."

"This stuff is weird," Veronica said, lifting up her glass and wrinkling her nose.

"Most alcohol is," Will agreed, taking it from her, "adults like to pretend it's nice."

"Why?"

"Grown-ups like to lie," Will said as he scanned the crowd, feeling a familiar itch at his neck, "it makes them feel powerful."

"Mmm," Veronica narrowed her eyes again, as if in understanding, "my mum lies."

"She does?"

"I think she might do it to try and not hurt my feelings. She says she likes things, but then she won't take them. I made her this," Veronica put her thumb under a necklace she wore, shining with what seemed to be alternating pieces of hematite and coral, "but she wouldn't wear it."

"I wouldn't worry about it, sweetheart," Will said, "suits you better anyway."

"Thanks," once more grinning her disconcerting grin; when the crowd parted before them, Will looked up and found a familiar sight revealed. Veronica tugged at his arm, "Look! There's uncle!"

It had always been something he'd found easy to dislike about Hannibal when they'd first met, that he was always dressed as an aristocrat, but even then he couldn't deny the fact that the man looked incredibly fine in any suit he chose to wear. The particular choice for the evening was a dark plum with black velvet lapels, tailored tightly into the small of his back and trimly across his broad shoulders. Will let Veronica go as she trotted up to the group, which Will noted included the ever present Lady Murasaki, dressed in a stunning red ball gown, black satin, elbow length gloves and a polite yet vicious smile. The rest of the guests at the huddle were unknowns, a man and two women who seemed far more fitting to the situation than Will felt.

When Hannibal turned and smiled at Veronica as she patted his arm, Will felt embarrassed at how glad he was to see him. _One night apart_ , Will thought, berating himself, _and it's enough to make me lonesome. Fucking hell._

"Veronica, my dear, how wonderful to see you," Hannibal said, looking up as Will approached, "and I see you have brought me an errant gift."

"Will fixed her for me," she said with a smile, showing him the doll and the button.

"So I see," Hannibal said.

"My gift wrap might be a little damaged," Will shrugged, picking at the abused threads.

"Veronica, don't harass Doctor Lecter," the unknown man said as he guided the girl to his side; he was short and saggy cheeked with a pale complexion and matching blonde hair. Her father, Will was sure. The woman at his side, kitted out in a sharp black bob of hair and exaggerated make-up above a corseted green dress must have been the mother, Will thought with distaste. Her and Veronica shared the same watery blue eyes, but it appeared that it was the only thing they did.

Leaning in, Hannibal kissed at his neck in a practiced display of affection, an appropriate greeting for their situation and their company.

"I had thought you may have changed your mind," Hannibal took the opportunity to murmur by his ear.

"I was just down the rabbit hole," Will shrugged, enjoying Hannibal's intrigued glance.

"Oh, but Hannibal!" the mother suddenly spoke up, in a sultry voice Will hadn't been expecting, "This must be him! So you weren't pulling the wool over our eyes, Murasaki, it's true. Dear Doctor Lecter has been completely and utterly caught."

Lady Murasaki's polite smile did not waver, but her eyes said otherwise. At the other end of the room, by an ice sculpture of a stag with its antler's raised, the string quartet began playing _Eine Kleine Nachtmusik_. The other woman at their group, dressed in a strapless black and white evening gown and with truly artful coil of golden blonde hair, hid her own reaction behind a sip of red wine before speaking.

"Caught implies there was a chase," her tone was attractively husky and demure, "can I assume you were the predator Hannibal?"

"Ineluctably," Hannibal said, cocking his head forwards towards the blonde and lowering his voice, "although now I believe it may be the reverse."

"Forgive me," Lady Murasaki spoke up, putting her hand to her chest, "what a terrible host I am. Bedelia, my dear, this is Will Graham. And I must introduce Fiona Charnham and her wonderful husband Charles. Fiona has been treasurer on the chair of the project, truly indispensable."

"You're too kind," Fiona said, touching Murasaki's arm and smiling.

Will expected that this was some sort of opening for him to politely inquire as to what the fundraiser was for; he was sure that it was noticeable that he stayed utterly silent. Hannibal stayed beguilingly close, yet not touching. Will had to resist the urge to lean a little to the left and press their sides flush.

"Ah, but you must excuse me," Murasaki said, looking off to the left and waving, "I simply must go and speak to Mr Evansham, he has donated a considerable sum. Do enjoy yourselves."

Without the subtle glue of the hostess, the awkwardness returned, even if only for a moment. Veronica looked amused by the silence. Will smiled in return.

"So, I understand you work at the FBI, Mr. Graham?" Mr Charnham eventually asked with all the enthusiasm of tired bloodhound.

"Not really," Will said, taking a drink of the last of the champagne in his glass; even if he detested the stuff, at least it took the edge off, "I'm back in teaching now."

"Ah," Charnham said, nodding sagely, "a good position for someone like yourself. Honestly, and don't take anything from it, I'm amazed they put you in such a position in the first place. Dangerous work, catching murderers."

"Quite," Will said, gripping his glass tightly and keeping his eyes on the far wall.

"Someone at the Mayor's office ought to look into who's running that department," Fiona Charnham chipped in her two cents.

"I know, mom," Veronica said, looking up at her mother who staunchly ignored her, "I know who it is."

"Someone who purposefully puts omegas in harm's way is not someone I would trust to run a scrupulous investigation," Charnham said brusquely.

So far, Will felt he could commend himself on his restraint. Instinctively he leaned away from Hannibal. He could feel the eyes of the blonde, Bedelia, watching him with interest.

"I think you're really brave," Veronica spoke up when her mother refused to respond to her, "I'd be scared if I had to shoot someone."

"It's not so much scary," Will said, licking at his bottom lip and blinking, "as much as it is ugly. Killing is always ugly, even when it's in self defence."

Veronica looked contemplative as her father butted in.

"Hobbs wasn't it?" Charnham spoke up, "The one you took care of? Jacob Hobbs. I remember the headlines. Maniac. Killed his wife and daughter. You did the world a service putting that dog down," he said, raising his glass towards Will before taking a drink.

"Still, it takes a certain type to pull a trigger, doesn't it?" Fiona said, smiling even as her eyes stayed hard.

"I'm sure they're the kind of qualities the FBI look for," Bedelia said, "but you must tell us what you're working on, Will."

"I'm sure it's not a subject for polite conversation," Will didn't have the energy to stop the heavy sarcasm on the last two words.

"Certainly not with impressionable minds present," Charnham said, putting his hand on his daughter's shoulder.

"I don't know," Will said, frowning, "sounds like she already has her own interests."

"Oh, you mustn't pay attention to Veronica's fancies," Fiona said, with a dismissive laugh, "she's quite the morbid one. I hope you weren't encouraging her, Mr Graham."

"Why not?" Will said, unable to hide the harshness in his tone, "someone has to."

Another polite but confused laugh from Fiona. Will felt Hannibal's eyes on him, before they moved on. Will felt like closing his. _Why did I ever say yes to this?_ he asked himself as he felt his restraint buckle under the pressure.

"I can't imagine what you mean," Fiona said.

"Just that anyone should have the right to pursue whatever they want in life," Will stated, trying for neutrality.

"Awfully socialist of you, Graham," Charnham said, sniffing, "what do you have to say for it, Doctor?"

Smiling demurely, Hannibal answered, "I find it always sensible to agree with my husband."

"Like that eh?" Charnham said with a dismissive raise of his brows.

"More egalitarian than I knew you were capable of being, Hannibal," Bedelia said, keeping her eyes averted as Hannibal looked to her.

"It's sentiments like that which bring our whole society to the brink," Fiona said, waving her hand when her husband tried to butt in, "and I'm not being dramatic, Charles. I'm not. It's just that sometimes people think that..."

"That everyone is created equal?" Will finished for her.

Everyone had fallen suspiciously quiet as they continued to speak. The party swirled on about them, heedless of the building tension.

"If you want to put it bluntly," she said, "then I suppose you must. It still doesn't change things."

"And if your daughter told you she wanted to take up my line of work?" Will asked tightly.

"I would refuse," she said, looking at him as if he were mad, "you think I would let my daughter..."

"Follow her own dreams?" Will was vaguely aware that Veronica looked shocked, hugging her doll to her chest and looking at the adults as if seeing strangers.

"How dare you," Fiona said, letting out a quick puff of breath, "what makes you think you have the right to question how I raise my little girl?"

"Oh, I don't know," Will finished his champagne and stared at the emerald green strap of Fiona's dress, face set hard, "the fact that you put her life in danger for the sake of a measles inoculation? The fact that you ignore her at every turn, and probably wouldn't be able to answer any given simple question about her if I asked?"

"I don't have to take this from you," she said, colour appearing on her cheeks, "Charles? For god's sakes, what's the matter with you? Say something!"

Out the corner of his eye Will saw Hannibal smile. Normally it would have amused him, but now it felt more like claws against the back of his neck. Will felt a little giddy with the intuition of it all, and yet simultaneously cold with it.

"Look here, Graham..." Charnham began, looking out of his depth.

"I'll bet you don't even know how to start taking an interest in anyone but yourself, do you?" Will said as if to himself; when he looked up and met Fiona's gaze he saw the woman flinch, "What's the name of the doll?"

" _Excuse_ me?" Fiona said, eyes narrowed.

"The doll, Mrs Charnham, it's not difficult. Your daughter's doll. What's it's name?"

"This is ridiculous..." she tried to laugh it off, even with a vicious edge.

"The name, please," Will pushed.

"I don't know the stupid thing's name!" she spat, flaring up, "And you are the rudest person I've ever met! And how _you_ can stand there and let your mate talk this way has seriously lowered you in my estimations Doctor Lecter," Fiona said, giving Hannibal a glare.

"He's not my keeper," Will said tightly.

"Well maybe he should be!" she hissed, pulling her daughter with her as she turned to leave, before stopping and turning back as if deciding on something, "and it doesn't surprise me at all that you're having such trouble conceiving. It's obvious that some people just aren't fit to be parents!"

A slap in the face would have been easier to take. As the Charnhams, with a silent Veronica at their side, strutted off into the crowd Will thought about how he'd come to be here. Who for and why. What the point of it was.

Hannibal had insisted he accompany him. _To show me off, that it?_ he wondered. Probably not, if this was something Hannibal probably knew would happen sooner or later. _Then why?_ He had to ask himself.

He'd been on edge for months now. Ever since leaving the FBI his life had been one big unknown. Not that Will couldn't deal with unknowns, just that now his unknowns were all overseen by someone else. Hannibal was always present, and Will had only just realised that he'd come to the point where he couldn't bear the thought of it being otherwise. _Caught_ was what Fiona Charnham had called it. Will wondered, as he turned to Hannibal and handed him his empty champagne glass, if that was exactly what Hannibal thought of him.

"Don't bother," Will said darkly when Hannibal made to follow him as he left, "I'm getting a cab."

"Of course," Hannibal said without protest.

* * *

"Well?"

As Hannibal stood and watched his husband disappear into the crowd, he placed the empty glass he'd been given onto a passing waiter's plate. When he turned to Bedelia she was swirling her wine thoughtfully.

"He's delightfully observant. And blunt. Yet also overly righteous, from the sounds of it. Truthfully? He doesn't seem your type."

"I think that might say more about how well you know me than how well you know Will."

"I have only just met him," she pointed out, "honestly? I'm just glad that you truly appear to love him."

"Oh?" Hannibal asked, lips quirked.

"Hopefully it'll stop your aunt trying to force you onto me. Although I don't hold my breath."

"We would make a wonderful couple, wouldn't we," Hannibal said; Bedelia was utterly spellbinding, and yet her own intentions would never have aligned with his own. She could have been perfect, were she not so fearful of him, despite how she chose to portray herself. Will on the other hand, Hannibal knew, had far more potential.

And, as Bedelia had so bluntly put it, Hannibal loved Will Graham. She just didn't need to know exactly why that was.

"Hannibal, please stop flirting. It's indecent."

"Just stating fact. If you'll excuse me, Bedelia."

As he made to leave, he was held back by Bedelia's parting shot.

"I'd be careful, playing with this one Hannibal," she said, "something tells me he's more dangerous than he looks."

"What a coincidence," Hannibal smiled, looking at her over his shoulder, "he said the same of me, once."

"Then he's a smart man."

"Would I settle for anything less?"

"Just promise me you won't get burned by your obsession with him. The fire that burns twice as bright burns half as long. I hate to throw proverbs, but you sound like you need this one."

"We do not both yet burn," Hannibal said, half to Bedelia and half to himself, "he is the oxygen to my flame. When we both burn together...that will be the moment the world sees us as we truly are. Still," he cocked his head, "until then I think it more intriguing just to watch."

"Always the voyeur," Bedelia said, with a hint of guilt to her tone, "then I'll wish you luck."

The vindication in Bedelia's words warmed him from the inside out. _She was a good sport_ , he thought, _always such a good sport._ Even when there was a corpse on the floor between them, and blood on her hands.

Hannibal left the party alone, much as he had arrived.

* * *

Livid wouldn't cover it. Will wasn't livid. Livid was for fiery ire, lashing out and maybe smashing a lamp or two. No, he wasn't there, not living in that high pitched anger. He thought it worse to be where he was.

Doubt; mired in it. _Doubt_ caused by Fiona Charnham's words, even if he still held with his assessment of her as a vicious, self centred bitch. _Doubt_ about his conviction to have a child even though he constantly worried that they might turn out just like him, have his problems and his worries and his troubles. _Doubt_ about Hannibal's intentions and his wants.

 _Doubt._ It made him cruel, and he knew it. Which was why, once Hannibal had arrived at the hotel suite fifteen minutes after he had stayed quiet. They moved around the rooms without catching each other's eyes, or occupying the same space, or speaking. It felt oddly hollow.

After fifteen minutes of silence, as Will walked through the sitting area with its armchairs and sofa and low, glass coffee table, Hannibal finally spoke up, "You think me cold."

Will didn't reply until he'd returned from the bedroom, changed back into his jeans and sweatshirt. He kept his eyes on his task of putting his suit jacket back into its hanger.

"No," Will answered succinctly and shook his head.

"Then I misjudge why you are angry."

"It seems like you misjudge more than that," Will draped the jacket carelessly over the back of the nearby armchair and walked to the windows, looking down over the busy city. Yet he did not look down, as most would. Instead he looked up, to the full white face in the sky. Staring out seemed representative of his feelings, "I'm not angry."

 _I'm just caught._

He didn't hear Hannibal move, but his voice drew closer as he spoke.

"You play with your thoughts in the moonlight," Hannibal finally stood beside him, staring out as he did, "how do they look to you, darling?"

"Black," he said softly, "most things do these days. You know that's how blood looks? My dad used to take me deer hunting in North Carolina, early; well before the blue dark. I would get it on my hands sometimes, my clothes, carrying back the bucks and the does. It looks black under moonlight."

They stood together, as spots of rain began to spatter on the glass. Above them, the moon became obscured by cloud, leaving only the faint shadow of light behind.

"You know your aunt likes to talk about our intimate problems behind your back," Will said, "is family as complicated for you as it is for me?"

"I think family is always complex," Hannibal said.

"I feel sorry for her, Veronica."

"She is a charming, intelligent, individual child, stunted by her environment."

"She's a butterfly in the glue, trying to fly free. I'd say I'm not angry that someone like Fiona Charnham has no trouble having kids, but I'd be lying. I'd say it wasn't fair but...no, it's not fair. Why the hell shouldn't I say it?"

"Darling..." Hannibal started.

"I'm fine," Will said quickly, even if it was a blatant lie.

"They say blood is thicker than water," Hannibal stated, "and yet water stays clear in moonlight. Perhaps blood is more malleable in its consistency," he looked down and Will felt observed as Hannibal's eyes landed on him, "I hope you are not changing your mind."

"What, because some stuck up socialite threw my deepest fears back in my face?" Will shrugged, "No. I just...think it's something I try my best to avoid. And maybe I shouldn't avoid it any longer."

"What darling?"

"That I'm being selfish, having a kid. The margin for error is wide, and I never was a good shot. Still," Will met Hannibal's gaze, "I'm not doing it alone, am I."

"I would hate for you to think I was simply standing by to observe," Hannibal said purposefully.

"Of course not," Will said wryly, "you know Hannibal, when it comes to your family I feel shared about, like bits of meat at a buffet table. Do you want to join them?"

"In devouring you? I would have thought that was a privilege I would have alone. Do not hold it against me if I do not wish to share you."

"At least we have that in common," Will said, shoving his hands in his pockets, "Bedelia, by the way, she seems nice."

"Is that a conservative assessment?"

"Yes. She's afraid of you, isn't she."

"Why would you say that?"

"Body language," Will shrugged, "and the way she watched me. When I stood alone, when I put distance between us, it was as if she was seeing something bizarre."

"Bedelia has always feared the social web. Being a part of the web means you are always in fear of the spider at its centre."

Watching Hannibal in the gloom of the lamp, he seemed changed. Unfamiliar and yet also familiar; _familiar_ in his warmth and affection, _unfamiliar_ through the predatory anticipation in his eyes. Will breathed in deeply and tried not to think about the fact that he did not believe Hannibal's explanation.

 _It would simply be more doubt_.

"It's true, isn't it," he said.

"What is?"

"That you'll never let me truly know you."

"I would rather not spoil the fun so early."

"Sometimes I feel like it would be better if I never figured it out."

"And then?"

"And then I can't help myself," Will shrugged, "It's one of my worst failings. I always have to know. Hannibal?"

"Yes dearest?"

"I'd rather you didn't ask me to attend any more parties."

"Of course, I would not expect you to suffer it again. May I make it up to you?"

Will's lips twitched.

"Bird in a cage," he murmured.

Hannibal's eyes narrowed minutely, but his lips quirked higher. When Will felt a hand at his arm, he looked down to find long fingers trailing his shoulder.

"I would not have you fear me too, darling."

"Not afraid of you Hannibal. I'm afraid of being _caught_. I told you once that I didn't want to be trapped, and I was promised an open door policy. Tell me, is it what you want? To cage me?"

"Can we not share the cage?"

Will laughed and shook his head before swallowing.

"If I had to share a cage with anyone, I wouldn't do it with anyone else but you."

"Perhaps the most romantic sentiment I have ever been offered," Hannibal smiled genuinely, "but then sentiments are only offered when one reflects in sorrow. Do you miss it Will? Your life before?"

"I still have my life," Will said, "it's just...different now. I can't say I'm not happy, if that's what you want to hear."

"I do," Hannibal said, touching his neck with his fingertips; Will's eyes fluttered closed on instinct, before blinking back open.

"Then we'll leave it here, where it should be left."

"And what you wished to know about me?"

"Left too."

"You will not ask?"

"I'll never ask," Will smiled darkly, "because that would spoil the fun."

Hannibal leaned in to kiss him suddenly, pulling their body's flush and gripping him with a force nearly enough to bruise. When they parted, they were still as one, clasped and joined. Will ran his fingertips across Hannibal's right cheek, to feel the skin and the blood beneath, the heat that only appeared when they were close, near, _together._

"You know Will? You worry too much. You'd be so much more comfortable if you relaxed with yourself."

"You'd like that," Will murmured, their breath mingling, "wouldn't you."

"Should I ask?"

"Only if you want to spoil the fun early."

* * *

It was five days later before Will finally picked up the phone. Not that it had taken five days to build up the courage, but instead it had been five days of trying to stop himself from doing what he was now doing.

It rang seven times before being answered by a house maid. By the time the person he'd called for was put onto the phone, Will was leaning against the wall in their hallway at home, the sound of Hannibal's harpsichord drifting down the stairway with spritzy staccato.

"If I asked you to stop it here, would you?" Will said before she had spoken, "Only I thought it might be worth a shot."

"Truthfully I am simply glad that your conduct at my gathering has cemented my assessment of you as an uncouth, crude young man with none of the qualities needed to be a suitable mate for my nephew," Murasaki said stonily, "Although I am sure you are happy that I shall not be inviting you back."

"He's angry with you, you know," Will rejoined, "he might not seem it, but he is. So rude, to spread rumours."

"It is not a rumour if it is true. If you cannot bear him a child, how long do you think your sham of a marriage shall last?"

"Longer than your affair did," Will said bluntly.

Silence. Will savoured it for the truth it brought. The truth he'd always suspected, but never known how to voice. _The love Hannibal and Murasaki had once shared, many years ago, and now he had stolen it_. It only accounted for a fraction of her hatred for him, but at least it made sense of it.

"You try and riddle him with guilt, for being with me," Will said, curling the phone cord around into his fist, "trying so desperately to find him a false little wife that he can resent and ignore, so that you're the only one he has left to turn to. It's the shaky foundation to the love you're trying to keep. You just don't get it, do you? Hannibal enjoys being coveted, and he covets what he wishes."

The silence continued. He could imagine Murasaki staring straight ahead, _perhaps dark eyes cold but struck by truth_. _People would move around them like spectres. Or perhaps they would be the spectres, standing at the grave side. Will wasn't sure which way round the looking glass faced half the time._

"And you feel as if telling everyone about my problems will mask your own. Is that why he's so precious to you? When exactly did the doctor tell you that you'd never have children?"

The silence shouted a history of regret. Will knew it, because for him the history was the present. Only they could understand, even in their mutual dislike. Will knew he would find it, the moment of truth between them that would always be there, _a connection deeper than a knife could strike_.

"I was never caught, Murasaki. Just found. And as for Hannibal he's no one's fool, least of all yours," Will said; as he made to hang up the phone Murasaki spoke, calm and composed but with an underlying anger that Will could hear like distant rushing water.

"Perhaps you are the fool, Mr Graham."

Will couldn't help but frown softly, fingers still tangled in the wire. There was a genuine triumph to her tone that put him on edge, but also a sadness that he could not explain. _Anger, resentment, disdain_ , those he was used to. Her statement, though barbed, verged on concern, and that was something not so easily dismissed.

"Maybe," he said eventually, "or perhaps we both are. I suppose I'll just have to find that out for myself. Don't bother mailing any more invitations, they'll go straight on the fire."

With that he placed the phone in the receiver. The harpsichord was silent. Will knew Hannibal was listening. He walked up the stairs gently, running his hand along the banister as he climbed. When he reached the top the sitting room door was blocked. Hannibal observed him with a subtle triumph.

"I do believe Bedelia was correct," Hannibal said.

"What?" Will asked, allowing Hannibal to take his hand and kiss it softly.

"You're more dangerous than you look," Hannibal smiled.


End file.
